Sometimes I feel like this is one of the most important lessons I am supposed to be learning: being content with the small things I already have. I am guessing this is true for most of us.
I have been born privileged: healthy, of serviceable intelligence, and of middle class means. From the start there were no limits to the dreams I could dream, which I took for granted.
Life didn’t turn out bad for me; on the contrary. But it didn’t lead where I was thinking it would either. I find myself at this age questioning decisions, abilities, everything, unable to find peace with my life. They call that something, don’t they?
I think there is something in these concepts that are being thrown at us a lot nowadays, of hygge (a Danish feeling of comfort and well-being) and lagom (Swedish for “adequate” or “just right”).
This New Yorker article titled The Year of Hygge, the Danish Obsession with Getting Cozy gave me a lot of pause for though, because, yes, these nations are reportedly happier than other peoples, in spite of living in environments that are cold and seem adverse to any kind of joyful living. So do they have the answer? Is this it? Should we try to find our happiness in the small things that are plentiful in our days instead of always dreaming big, and often being let down over and over again?
I mean, obviously, not a very American concept, is it? The American culture has been so aggressively individualistic and proud of it that I doubt such ideas will take root here any time soon. Because for this philosophy to work, you must be somewhat community minded. Being content with little means that more of us can partake of the good life. Some of us have to tone down our aspirations in order for all of us to get a chance at dreaming at all. And I am more than fine with that. I think it’s the only ethical way to live.
When we value our lives in financial wealth, we limit ourselves to this world we already have: unhappy, skewed, stressful, violent, intolerant. We choose the path of fear and trembling because of the promise of greater rewards, which logically can only be bestowed upon few, we know too well, but we convince ourselves that we are indeed among those few, because we, each of us, are the special, chosen ones.
We end up despising the small good things that are already within our reach and invalidate their power to make us happy, because we need to stay hungry on the path of fear and trembling. The choices we’ve made as humanity are just mind-boggling, if you look at them with the right attitude.
Of course it is easier to go on and philosophize about how to solve the problems of all humanity instead of dealing with my own state of despondency. I do what I can. Now I’ll try to relax and seep some imaginary herbal tea. Because the actual instant coffee in my cup just doesn’t sound hygge enough—in the hipster and instagrammable understanding of the word. Not that I have a better understanding of it at all, which you must have gleaned by now, and which I’d never let stop me from the enjoyment of writing about it.